


Puzzle Pieces

by ThisPeep



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Viclock, has case fic elements, mild bloodplay, vampire!Victor, vampirelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPeep/pseuds/ThisPeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During secret meet ups with Victor, and a case, Sherlock notices something off about Victor. Not new, but things he hadn't noticed before.<br/>Sherlock always did love a puzzle, and he's set on figuring out what's going on with Victor.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Puzzle Pieces

Victor went out a lot.

That in itself wasn’t unusual, for some reason many people seemed to enjoy going to the city, or meeting up with friends, or popping into a restaurant for lunch. So it wasn’t that Victor went out, in fact if he didn’t Sherlock would be worried. Even Sherlock went out sometimes, and Victor was greatly more sociable than Sherlock. So, yes, Victor was bound to go out a lot. He had meetings and friends and things that would get him to go out a lot. Except.

Victor went out a lot at night.

He didn’t have any reason to go out at night, none at all. His friends all had early jobs that went Monday through Friday, and they weren’t exactly the late night party type. Lunch didn’t happen at night, so it obviously wasn’t that. Victor’s coworkers were all lazy and bored and moronic, they wouldn’t put in the effort to set up meetings at night. Yet, Sherlock had noticed Victor went out at night more.

Thinking back on it, Victor had always gone out at night. Ever since he knew Sherlock. But hindsight grants easier vision. Victor was getting less subtle about it, as though he was leaving hints for something that Sherlock should figure out. That he should have figured out by now? Sherlock wasn’t sure. But something was definitely off.

There was another thing, too. After coming back (at night) Victor was… different. Stronger, smarter, healthier looking. More attractive, too. His eyes shone brighter and it was still Victor, but akin to something like a Victor enhanced. He was more Victor than he was before. Except he smelt different. It wasn’t more him-like, it was almost. Metallic. Primal. Difficult to explain.

So Sherlock went on pondering, thinking about the ever-confusing puzzle that was Victor Trevor. He didn’t know, couldn’t figure it out until one night. One night after Victor had come home and slipped into bed with Sherlock. It didn’t seem dissimilar at first, he was warmer, stronger, and seemed happier. More content. So it wasn’t different at all, actually, the underlying smell was still there. Except that was the night Sherlock placed the smell, when he realized what it was.

Blood.

Victor Trevor, his Victor Trevor, smelt like blood. Not from his hands or feet or anywhere they would point to having him had been a secret serial killer this entire time, but his mouth smelt like blood. Sherlock decided to investigate on his theory more, because right now it was as laughable and ridiculous as it was obvious.

So the next night, when Victor came home late, Sherlock kissed him. Not a chaste peck on Victor’s lips, because that would be entirely unhelpful, but a deep kiss. His tongue brushed over Victor’s lips- blood- and slipped into his mouth- more blood- and over Victor’s teeth and- they were sharper than usual. Not overly sharp, or overly long, not enough to cause serious damage, but just slightly. They slowly, very very slowly, went back to their normal size as the kiss continued.

Sherlock was the one to eventually break it, again needing that tedious air filling his lungs. Victor’s breathing, on the other hand, was even and light. Almost as if… well that was impossible. People needed to breath, if they didn’t Sherlock would have stopped from the moment he started. Victor noticed Sherlock’s confusion, he was very astute when it came to Sherlock, and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist.

“What’s the matter, Shers?” He asked, placing a feather-light kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. His voice was atypically smooth, akin to if he ad taken a cough drop or had some honey. Sherlock’s mind spun, trying to come up with a believable reason. There was no point in lying, Victor would be able to tell as always, so he would have to exaggerate something he was annoyed about. 

“John.” The excuse finally came to him, and his mind worked on details behind his current exasperation with John. Well, he wasn’t actually irritated at John. He was irritated at one particular part of John, the clever part that realized Sherlock didn’t have proper reason to be gone this often. The part that suspected someone like Victor might exist.

Victor made a low- very low- noise of understanding from the back of his throat. It glided out- not rumbling, as one would expect. Sherlock placed his face against Victor’s chest, hiding it from being read by Victor’s perceptive gaze. Victor hummed, low and deep and liquid, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. The silent question- Do you want to talk about it?¬- went ignored, Sherlock giving off a definite, albeit unspoken, No.

~*~*~*~*~

John was away, and Sherlock had pulled Victor along on a case. Secretly, Sherlock was happy. He enjoyed cases with John, but ones with Victor were a rare treat. With John, excitement crackled in the air, invigorating and enjoyable. With Victor, exhilaration was nearly tangible and would manifest itself at random, wonderful times. Against a wall, after a new idea hit, breaking open the investigation. In a dark alley, after new evidence appeared and gave them a lead. In bed, when things have relaxed a bit.

Working together was electric, and everyone who was around on cases with them knew it. It was impossible to hide, as clever as they both were. Greg knew, as did Anderson and Donovan. Greg had convinced those two to not go off to the papers or tell John. He didn’t support their secrecy, but he could understand it. So he kept it.

Cases meant that Victor and Sherlock spent nigh on all their time together, and Sherlock hadn’t failed to notice Victor getting paler, weaker, more tired. Not drastically so, the progression was slow, but Sherlock had noticed after only a few days. He had pestered Victor about it, but Victor skillfully dodged his questions and distracted him with questions about potential perpetrators. 

Something clicked, Sherlock actually saw the lines merge and point him towards an open file. Everything slotted into place, and he rushed through each and every point, double and triple checking it all worked. Could anything else work? No. Sherlock’s eyes flew open.

“Maddison.” He stated, voice certain and set in stone. What Victor had dubbed his ‘Genius Voice.’ Sherlock- mostly- ignored the way Victor’s pupils dilated at his use of it, and Greg looked at him incredulously. 

“The husband?” He asked, reluctant belief seeping from his voice. Victor let out a breath of realization. They had thoroughly examined the husband, he had no reason to kill his wife. No motivation, no murder. 

“Of course!” He exclaimed, picking up on Sherlock’s line of thinking right away. He brought up a hand to his temple, spinning through the scenario. What had been that final link Sherlock had seen, though? It made sense, but there was no solid proof. Was there? Victor turned, pacing briefly before his eyes lit up. “The receipts?” He asked, question directed at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned, “The receipts.” He repeated, confirming. Victor’s lips were pulled into an exuberant smile. In a few moments, he was next to Sherlock, pulling him into a brief, awed kiss. Sherlock noticed a few things within that time span. 1: Victor had moved too fast, faster than was technically possible. Not so fast that someone couldn’t rationalize it- like Greg- but fast enough. And 2: Victor was cool. His hands, his lips, they weren’t the temperature they should be.

Greg rolled his eyes and gave a pointed cough. “Hello? I’m a bit lost here?” He said, drawing Victor and Sherlock’s attention, making Victor step back from Sherlock. He gave a short nod in apology, even though he looked anything but rueful. Sherlock cleared his throat and turned to Greg. He had more pressing things to do at the moment. 

“The wife’s receipts, look threw those. Hotel rooms, affair, murder. Simple, boring and domestic.” He rushed the words, impatient to talk to Victor more privately. Greg lifted an eyebrow, Sherlock wasn’t showing off. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock cut him off. “I left them on your desk, should be easy to find, fifth one down. I have to go, good day.”

With a flourish of his coat and a hand around Victor’s wrist, the two disappeared off. Greg shook his head, but went to go find the note Sherlock had mentioned. He’d pull them in to explain properly later, for now though Greg had noticed the spark that had coursed between them and decided to leave them be. Call tomorrow. The case could wait a few hours.

Sherlock hailed a cab and gave the address. He and Victor rode in silence, anticipation running through Sherlock like a cord prepared to snap at any moment. Victor sat in quiet contemplation; curious as to what Sherlock was thinking. He didn’t have the usual air of impatience. The impatience was still there, still directed at Victor, but off. It had the same feel as after Sherlock had cracked an investigation at home and rushed off to go prove himself correct.

Victor knew what it was for. It gave his a tsunami of emotions; pride, worry, love, fear, curiosity, it seemed all of them had been invoked for this one instance, this one point that would change everything. For better or worse, it was happening tonight. Victor had made sure of it, purposely getting more obvious. He wanted Sherlock to know, but wasn’t able to tell him.

The cab stopped. 

Victor blew out a slow puff of air.

Sherlock opened his door and handed notes to the driver, and went inside without so much as a backwards glance. He left the air thick and static in his wake. Victor got out of the car, smiling at the cabbie politely. He carefully went inside his house, taking his time with even closing the door. Now that the moment was upon him, he wanted nothing more than extra time.

Obviously, Victor didn’t get it. Sherlock rounded on him, pressing him against the door as soon as it had closed. Unexpectedly, he locked Victor’s lips in a hard kiss, searching for something. Then it broke and Sherlock stepped back, a bit breathless. Victor didn’t change his breathing at all.

Sherlock grabbed ahold of Victor’s hand, studying it carefully. His gaze traveled up Victor’s arm, trailing across his body before returning to his face. Victor held Sherlock’s look evenly, raising an eyebrow in a quiet challenge. Sherlock’s grip on Victor’s hand tightened.

“You’re cold.” Sherlock said, plainly. Not in his genius voice, not in his demeaning voice. In a detached, firm voice. It was new, and Victor didn’t like it. Not directed at him. Victor nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Sherlock stepped forward, pressing their chests together. He ran a finger over the vein in Victor’s neck, surprised to find it pumping blood.

“Is that on purpose?” He asked, voice changing to curious instead of… hurt, Victor realized. He had sound hurt before, defensive and betrayed. Victor felt a wrench in his gut, guilt twisting in him like a blunt knife. This time, he found the nerve to speak.

“Yes.” He replied, cutting off the effort of keeping his blood flowing. His pulse flowed, then stopped completely. Sherlock rested his hand over Victor’s heart, confirming the lack of blood flow to himself.

“What about the breathing?” Sherlock questioned, finally letting his eyes meet Victor’s. The knife twisted, for as much as Sherlock was trying to look simply interested, Victor knew him too well. He still wasn’t happy Victor had kept this from him.

“Not exactly necessary…” Victor trailed off, not knowing what to do. Continue being interrogated? Kiss Sherlock? His lips, his jaw, his neck… his neck. Victor was struck by hunger, he hadn’t eaten in days. A pang appeared, deep and longing and insistent, and it took all of Victor’s will power to pull his gaze from Sherlock’s throat.

Sherlock angled his head up, exposing more of his neck subtly. Victor’s eyes were forced back to it, warm and flush. Sherlock looked into Victor’s eyes seriously. “How long has it been since you drank?” Concern was etched into his tone, pleasantly surprising the part of Victor’s mind that was still Victor.

“Since a day or two before we started the case.” Victor said them, but the words didn’t feel his. The pang was growing, his focus was narrowing, and he felt separated from his body. Sherlock shook his head.

“That’s obviously too long, Victor.” He said sternly, almost scolding. Sherlock tilted his head and ghosted a finger over his vein. “Drink.” He said, commanding and surprisingly dominant sounding for someone offering up themselves on a metaphorical silver platter. Victor hesitated, part of his growled inwardly for him daring to hesitate, but he did.

“Are you-“ Sherlock cut him off, locking their lips together angrily, leaving no room for argument. He had no patience for it right then, not when Victor looked pale and he was obviously in serious need. Sherlock linked his leg around the back of Victor’s knee, flipping their positions. One of Victor’s hands ended up pinning Sherlock’s wrist to the wall; the other was to the side of Sherlock’s head.

“Drink.” Sherlock repeated, and this time Victor didn’t argue. Keeping Sherlock’s wrist restrained, Victor’s free arm wrapped around of his waist. He pressed against Sherlock, sliding his own legs between the detective’s. Finally, his canines lengthened, sharpening as they slipped between his lips. They grazed over the front over Sherlock’s throat, beneath his jaw, trailing to the side of Sherlock’s neck.

“Victor…” Sherlock breathed, impatient already. Victor gave a low chuckle because really, out of the two of them, Victor should be the one wanting it to start quickly. Sherlock gripped Victor’s shirt with his free hand, pulling him closer. Victor gave in and his teeth slipped through Sherlock’s skin, his mouth locked around the wound, capturing all the blood that came out.

Sherlock’s mind went straight to categorizing his reactions to the bite, and how it felt. The first sensation was obvious: pain. After all, his skin just got punctured and he was wounded. Next, was a subtle burning response, something mixing with his blood. Whatever was injected into him started to work, because a pleasant hum replaced the heat and the pain. 

That process took a little less than a minute, and after that the pleasant buzz stronger. His nerves were awash in desire for more, more of the feeling, more of Victor, more of everything. For once, nothing was too much, it was all to little. Sherlock was vaguely aware of his breathing become labored, and when Victor pulled away Sherlock instantly caught his lips in a scorching kiss.

Sherlock was happy to find his nerves stayed affected, and the tingles only dissipated slowly. He moaned into Victor’s mouth, parting Victor’s lips and meeting the piercing fangs. They were sharper than almost any weapon Sherlock had encountered before; the lightest touch to the tip of them broke skin. Soon the kiss had blood in it, trailing down both their chins gently. 

The hand curled in Victor’s shirt let go, moving to undo the buttons that secure it in place. Victor let go of Sherlock’s wrist, pushing off his suit jacket and untucking Sherlock’s shirt. He shrugged off his own button-down, leaving it hanging off by his wrists. Victor slid down Sherlock, making sure to blunt his fangs so they wouldn’t cut Sherlock as they ghosted over his skin.

Sherlock shuddered, still floating on residual bite pleasure. He bit back a moan as Victor mouthed his erection through Sherlock’s trousers. His now irritatingly tight trousers. Victor pulled on Sherlock’s fly, ignoring the buckle and the majority of Sherlock’s clothes.

Sherlock threw his head against the door with a gasp when Victor took out his erection. Usually Victor would go slowly, but passions and desire were running to high. He leaned forward, taking Sherlock in one go, the slide of teeth against sensitive skin making Sherlock groan wantonly. Victor smirked around Sherlock’s cock, sharpening his fangs slightly. 

He moved quickly, noting that the lack of gag reflex was a great plus side to being technically dead. Victor went from base to tip every time, mixing in a bit of inhuman speed. Soon long fingers found their way into his hair, tugging on it for a lack of anything else to hold onto.

Victor purred steadily, the vibrations reminding Sherlock’s nerves of the pleasure from the bite and making them relive it to an extent. Small, desperate sounds were slipping from Sherlock’s mouth, the pauses between them growing shorter and the sounds getting louder. Victor went rougher, letting Sherlock thrust up into him shamelessly. Victor’s teeth were nearly scraping against Sherlock’s cock as his tongue tirelessly toyed with it, tasting every inch and moaning himself at the sensation. 

Sherlock’s grip tightened, and he came with Victor’s name on his lips. Sherlock then pulled Victor up into a deep kiss, tasting himself in Victor’s mouth. He flipped them, hand slipping underneath Victor’s pants because what type of lover would Sherlock be if didn’t return the favor? Victor groaned, pushing his forehead against Sherlock shoulder as Sherlock jerked him off. With Sherlock’s blood still in him and his neglected erection over-sensitized by now, Victor lasted a few minutes before he was biting into Sherlock to keep from shouting.

They both leaned against each other, Victor’s arms draped over Sherlock’s shoulders unceremoniously. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist, pulling him into a long, lazy kiss. They both stayed lying on the carpet in silence for a while, enjoying the atypical peace. Then Sherlock rolled over, nuzzling Victor’s neck sleepily. 

“What would happen if I bit you after you had bitten me?” He asked, voice like cotton and already half-asleep. Victor purred, placing a kiss on top of Sherlock’s head. 

“You’d turn.” He said, worried Sherlock would ask him to. He’d refuse, right now, with Sherlock this tired and able to think right. He’d refuse the next day to, and the next month. Victor wouldn’t turn Sherlock unless he asked, having seriously thought it through and comprehending all it meant.

He needn’t have worried, as Sherlock just gave a soft hum of understanding. He shifted, practically using Victor as a mattress by now. Victor smiled, giving Sherlock a light squeeze before succumbing to the enveloping darkness himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't actually find any vampire!viclock AUs so I just... wrote one to make up for it.  
> Hope you all enjoyed it! <3  
> *Sidenote: I planned this originally as a 1K pwp fic i have no clue what happened


End file.
